More Than Enough
by LollyAspen
Summary: It was a year of first meetings, new potions, frequent nightmares, deep scars, story-telling, changing, fighting, voices, healing, coping, freedom, and love. 1999 would prove to the most important year of his life. Draco/Astoria.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** This is in no way related to any of the one shots or multi-chapter fics I've written about Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass, and this is something a little different that what I've done before. I read _It's Kind of a Funny Story_ by Ned Vizzini (may he rest in peace) about four months ago, and the beginnings of this are deeply rooted in the reaction I had to the novel (it's a great book, I highly recommend it). Reviews are love, suggestions are welcome, and please enjoy.

Disclaimer: Props to JKR, Ned Vizzini, and Chris Martin for the inspiration. Thanks to ENG 220 for feedback, comments, and general greatness. You guys will never know how much you helped me.

* * *

"Mr. Malfoy?"

He didn't move an inch when he heard his name. It was the same Healers, the same Mediwizards, the same people every single day.

"I've brought a potion. It should help you sleep better."

He remained laying on his side in the bed. The Healer placed the vial of potion on the bedside table.

"I'll just leave it here for you Draco. I highly suggest you take it."

He ignored her entirely. They could prescribe him as many potions as they wanted to, but he was never going to drink them.

The lunch tray brought into his room earlier remained relatively untouched. He had taken a few bites from an apple and sipped from a cup of water. His single bed was pushed against the glowing, eerie white walls of his room.

When he had been admitted, they placed him in his own private room instead of with a roommate, like most of the patients. The room was very small and contained only his bed, the small table with a lamp, and a wardrobe in the corner. Even these few things were cramped close together. The wardrobe held a few changes of clothes for him, but for the most part was bare and empty.

The Healer tried to check on him every hour or so. He would have told her it was a waste of time. She usually found him lying in the same position on his bed, his eyes burdened with the lack of sleep. His Healer had tried to coax him to eat more in his first few days. Now, she counted herself lucky if she could get Draco to just acknowledge she was there. He couldn't remember her name, and he didn't want to. She was too nice to him, and he hated her for it.

The smell of his lunch made him feel ill. He had days when the food made him angry, and he would throw the trays against the walls. Other days, like today, he wouldn't get out of bed, and the thought of food or water didn't mean anything to him. He would eat little, use the bathroom little, and move as little as possible. The Healer hated his apathetic days more than his angry days.

"Draco you should try to eat a little more," she suggested again when she came with the dinner tray a few hours later.

"Today it's roast beef. Lots of protein and energy in roast beef."

She stood beside his bed with the tray levitating off the ground. "I know it's not the most finely cooked food in the world, but it is very good for you. Please try to eat more."

His eyes were focused straight ahead, and her words seemed to pass over him. He did not want to eat.

"Draco, you'll starve yourself to death. And I would be awfully sorry to see you go. Please eat."

They didn't allow him to use utensils without supervision. If he wouldn't eat in front of a Healer or supervisor, then the rest of his food was cut and chopped so he could eat without the forks and knives. His Healer pushed the tray towards him.

"Just a bite Draco. Just one bite for right now. Then you can eat more later."

"I don't want it."

"Why not?"

"I don't. Leave me alone please."

"Draco, if you can just take one bite..."

"I said leave me alone."

The Healer pursed her lips. She set the tray down on his table.

"I know what you're doing Draco. And you can't keep doing it forever."

She stood and watched him for a few more minutes, waiting to see if he would change his mind and eat a little dinner. His endurance proved to be greater than hers.

"Draco you have my call button and I am available at any time," she said as she left his room. "Any time."

She always dropped hints to him like that, just in case he made some progress and wanted to talk to her. He never did. More importantly, he didn't plan to. The nurse would be back within an hour, another potion in hand and would try to coax him to drink it, to eat his food, to try to rest, to talk to the Head Healers in charge of the ward. Her pep talks had little variation.

He sat up in bed and looked at the food. There was pre-cut roast beef, a small bowl of roasted potatoes, a serving of beans, and a cup of water. His meals were simple. They knew he hardly ever ate them or ate much of them. He picked up a strip of the roast beef and rolled it between his fingers. The smell wasn't strong, but it was there. He placed the strip on his tongue and forced his teeth to take a small bite from it. He chewed and chewed before swallowing, and the meat felt rough inside his mouth. He managed to take two more bites before he dropped the roast beef. The potatoes looked alright, and he ate two before he grew disgusted with them. The beans were unappealing, but he took deep drinks from his water glass. The water cups in his ward were bewitched to refill themselves once they had been drunken from. He drank half his glass, more than he had being drinking in a few days. The half-filled glass was placed back on his tray, and he moved towards his wardrobe.

He would eat no more today.

The Healer would say it wasn't enough. The Head Healers would see it wasn't enough. He found it to be more than enough.

The wardrobe in his room was an old wooden one from a sale down in Diagon Alley. When the ward was being furnished, funds were running low, and they had to make do with the money at their disposal. There were scratches and marks all over the wardrobe. It had to be at least fifty years old when bought, and in his old life, Draco Malfoy would have never given any thought to this particular piece of furniture.

He opened the door and scrunched himself against the floor. It was small, but he knew how to make himself small. His weight loss had reduced his size substantially. He closed the door behind him, immersing himself in quiet darkness.

His few shirts hung above him. There were two white button-ups and three plain black shirts. Laundry was done every week, but Draco hadn't taken his clothes out to the hall hamper even once.

He placed a hand on the floor and felt the scratch marks there. Most were scattered randomly on the floor, but he knew where each one was. He counted them twice, just to make sure. He was right about their number, as always. He used his fingernail again. He had been through all of them twice, and now his right pointer finger would get another turn. He dug it into the floor and began his scratch. It always hurt like hell. The nail began to break and age-old splinters shoved themselves up into his skin. He didn't stop until the single line was of a good size.

When he finally took his finger away, his other hand brushed over the mark. He added it to the count. _Twenty-two. _His finger was bleeding some. They usually did once the nail was broken. Some nights he would use his shirt to stop the blood flow. Other nights, he just let it be. Today was a day when he would let it be.

He curled up into a ball more tightly. There was no thought or feeling he could use to justify why he took to this behavior. He didn't even understand it sometimes. All he knew was how the pain he experienced in the closet helped him remember. It performed that one basic task for him. His finger was throbbing, but he tried his best to ignore it. He had too much practice at ignoring pain. His eyes felt heavy, and the demand for rest was overtaking him. He hated going to sleep. There was nothing he hated more than the dream world that awaited him. His Healer said the potions would help him sleep better, but she had no idea. No idea whatsoever. The faces his dreams followed him everywhere. They only became more vivid when his eyes were closed. He could see every detail and hear every scream. Each night was a fight against going to this world of terror. Some nights he could stay awake. Others, like this evening, his body was stronger than his mind. His eyes fluttered shut, and as he fell asleep, fear coursed through his heart.

They were waiting for him, like he knew they would be. He would still see the ghosts, even when he woke up.

* * *

_Draco._

_He was sitting at the dining room table again. Blood dripped from the cuts on her forehead and arms. She gasped as her body twitched against her will. She struggled against her invisible bonds and plead to those around her in a cracked, terrified voice. _

_"Do you recognize our guest Draco?"_

_He starred in horror as the woman revolved in the center of the table. The snake-like eyes bore into his mind as he saw Him smirk and speak the dreaded words. _Avada Kedavra! _She fell right in front of him, dead, with blood issuing forth from her mouth. He looked to his right and left, praying for a chance to escape her stare. She never stopped looking at him._

_The great snake that taunted him daily slithered onto the polished wood and seemed to smirk at him before commencing. He started screaming when he saw the snake take its first bite._

_It turned to him, fangs barred as it slithered closer. He hated that snake, but he couldn't move. All around him was laughter. He saw the red eyes peering in, and he saw the snake grin at him before striking. As the fang marks on his neck dripped red, his screams were drowned out by the hissing._

* * *

"Draco!"

"He's unresponsive. Get him onto the bed."

"We can't move him like this!"

"I need Replenishing potion, now!"

"How could he have possibly?"

"The marks are there, he's been at this since he's been here."

"We've been monitoring him..."

"Which hasn't been doing any good has it!"

"He's in critical condition, he needs to be moved. Now!"

* * *

On January 12, 1999, Draco Lucius Malfoy committed his last suicide attempt. It failed. Though the thought to end his life crossed his mind a few times again afterwards, he would never attempt the act ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

_Draco_.

_He sat in a chair as the Dark Lord circled him. _

_"Are you ready Draco? Are you willing to do it?"_

_He nodded slowly. This was what he wanted. This was what he had been waiting for. He could prove himself, show himself to be something more. Why did he feel so afraid?_

_The Dark Lord smiled and raised his wand. "Welcome to the ranks my dear Draco." _

_When the wand touched his arm, Draco screamed._

* * *

He twitched and his eyes snapped open. The white walls were there still, and the wardrobe was in the corner. He wasn't supposed to be here. He looked at the ceiling above his head and tried to shut his eyes again, but it was no use. Draco knew he had failed.

"Mr. Malfoy. So happy you've rejoined us."

His eyes darted to the man in Healing robes sitting by his bed. The Healer was older, with traces of grey in his light brown hair and lines set into his face. His eyes were very serious because his job was serious.

"Do you know where you are?" the Healer asked.

Draco bit his lip in anger. "St. Mungo's. Janus Thickey ward."

The Healer nodded. "Very good. And do you remember who I am?"

It would be difficult to not remember the Head Healer of the ward and a living descendent of Dilys Derwent.

"Healer Derwent."

"That's right. And do you remember how you got here?"

Draco remembered. The splinters, the wood, and the dreams in the wardrobe. The snake's attack in his dream was too real. Everything had become too real again, and he couldn't wait to waste away like he planned. The Healers hadn't thought about removing the coat hangers in the wardrobe.

"I remember."

"Can you elaborate to me your situation?"

"Ask that stupid Healer who comes in everyday. She thinks she knows me so well," he said with quiet anger.

"I have spoken at length with Healer Hopkins. I'd much rather hear what you think of yourself."

Draco stared at him with a stony expression. "You want to know what I think of myself?"

Healer Derwent nodded. "Draco, you may choose not to answer me, but it is my goal to help you."

"So that's what you're doing? Helping me," Draco spat the last words with venom. "Well I have some very important information for you. You aren't helping. You don't get to tell me how 'serious my condition is.' You don't get to decide whether I need help or not. You have no business with me, and I have none with you, and you're wasting your time trying to 'cure me.' And I know for a fact that the only reason you pretend to give a damn about me is because my mother is paying you every last galleon of her fortune to keep me here."

The Healer looked at him with interest.

"Do you really think I don't care about my patients?"

"I know everyone hates me, don't pretend that you don't either."

Healer Derwent shook his head. "I have no reason to hate you Draco. We're called Healers for a reason."

Draco looked away from Healer Derwent's gaze. His anger was coursing white-hot through him today. He had been in the ward for twenty-three days now, and the end of it didn't seem to be in sight.

"I've looked over your records, and myself and the other Healers have noticed you seem to suffer the most from recurring nightmares."

He didn't say anything. This was his forbidden territory.

"Draco, I'm curious about something. What did you see during the war?"

Draco's fists clenched as he remembered. The memories of the murders, the tortures, the sneers, the fear, and the large snake who occupied his home flowed in his mind. He remembered Hogwarts, the fire that killed Crabbe, the shame of being rescued by Potter and his pathetic friends, and the repercussions following the end.

"I saw everything," he whispered curtly.

The Head Healer wrote something on his clipboard and sighed. "Draco we've tried a lot of different ideas with you. You have remained unresponsive to our usual method for wizards with your condition. And in light of recent events, myself and the other Healers in the ward feel it's time we tried something a little different."

Healer Derwent stood from his chair and strode across the room to the small window that Draco kept closed and covered with a curtain. He drew the curtain aside.

"You will remain in this room for the time being, but you will take your meals and the prescribed potions in the dining hall with our other patients. All your free time will be spent outside of this room, and you will be required to interact with other patients and participate in activities. You will eat three solid meals a day, and will be prescribed appropriate potions for your symptoms."

The Head Healer waited for Draco's response.

"And if I do not comply?" Draco asked slowly. He refused to look at Healer Derwent.

"Then we will allow you to waste away and attempt to take your life. And then we will revive you as we did yesterday. I will not let you die Draco. So you may choose between an improved life or the life you have been experiencing the past few weeks."

Healer Derwent locked eyes and Draco, and Draco was almost stunned at the fierceness of his gaze.

"Dinner is in fifteen minutes Mr. Malfoy. You will find clean clothes in the wardrobe for you. I suggest you make yourself ready."

With a final look at Draco, Healer Derwent exited the room. His footsteps echoed down the hall until they slowly faded away.

Draco didn't move from his bed. He had a choice. He could ignore the Head Healer. He could just stay in bed, as he had for the past three weeks. The wardrobe door was slightly ajar. His stomach grumbled loudly. He had a choice...

"Bloody hell," he muttered as he shoved the covers aside.

He dressed slowly, taking the time to button up his shirt and lace his trainers. The clothes had been folded and placed on a shelf in the wardrobe. No more hangers for a while. The pants and shirt Draco wore were loose and baggy. He rolled the sleeves up and folded the black pant legs so he wouldn't step on them. The Healers should have expected this.

"Idiots," he thought to himself as he turned his door handle.

Draco hadn't seen the hallways since he first was admitted to the ward. It looked like every other section of the hospital that Draco had ever seen. The hallways were long and led to various other rooms. Draco passed a door of an older man who was babbling nonsensically as a Healer tried to coax a potion down his throat. Most doors were closed, but a few remained open. Healers walked past Draco in a very brisk fashion. One or two saw him and smiled, but didn't stop to chat. Draco remembered the dining hall was supposed to be to the left of the main hall. His footsteps felt too loud, and he pushed his hands in his pocket and ducked his head as he turned the corner. He would eat, avoid as may interactions as possible, and leave.

The dining hall was one of the larger rooms in the ward. It was full of rectangular tables and wooden benches. It reminded Draco a little of Hogwarts. There was no kitchen, only plates set at each seat.

Many patients had already gathered for the meal, and were either talking amongst themselves or ignoring everyone. There was a vacant seat in a corner table, which Draco slid into. A few pairs of eyes rested on him, and he bit the inside of his cheek and fought the urge to run back to his room. He kept his eyes on his plate and noticed there was no silverware.

"You have to tell it who you are." He jerked and his eyes shot up.

An older wizard with grey hair stood across from him. He was shorter, and there was a wide scar covering his right cheek. "It won't give you your food unless you tell it who you are."

Draco didn't say anything but continued to look at his plate. Finally, he whispered, "Draco Malfoy."

The food began to appear along with a glass of water and a folded card. He looked up and the short man had returned to his seat on the other side of the lunch room. Draco picked up the card and read.

"Potions will be taken following dinner. Be present at Room 205."

He flicked the card away and looked at his meal. It was a simple turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and little mayonnaise. A larger fruit cup and a cookie accompanied it. He picked the sandwich up with distaste and glared at it before he took a small bit. The turkey was dry, and almost impossible for him to swallow. He took a gulp of water and glared at the sandwich. He felt an intense amount of hatred for it, and resolved to take another bite. The lettuce was crisp and the tomato was juicy enough, but he couldn't get past the dry turkey. He spit the mashed food out and wiped his mouth. He only ate the fruit and cookie for the rest of his meal and pushed his plate away when he was finished.

Room 205 was a few doors down the hall from the lunch room. Each room was marked with a numbered plate. Only a few people stood in line at 205. There was a middle-aged man who was twiddling his thumbs, a young woman who was shaking, and an older man who turned around to Draco and said, "I'm the joker and man, you've got to be free."

Draco didn't respond and just took his place in line. His earlier anger had subsided and was being replaced with the more familiar feeling of apathy. It took all his willpower to take the few steps forward when the line moved. He heard footsteps behind him as more patients lined up for their medicine.

Finally, he reached the front of the line, and a friendly Healer smiled at him.

"Name?"

"Draco Malfoy."

Her smile faltered a bit as she handed him three vials of potion. "The first is a Replenishing potion, the second is a Sleeping potion that will help combat night terrors, and the third is for your..."

Draco cut her off by taking the vials and gulping the potions down. He handed them back to her wordlessly and nodded. He was turning to go when he stopped in his tracks.

Brilliant green eyes stared back at him. They were a deep emerald, like the color of his House from Hogwarts. They were bright and alive, but a little sad too.

The eyes were a part of a face that Draco noticed was heavily scarred. The thin scars ran all over her cheeks and up into her hairline. A more jagged cut stretched from one ear down to her chin. The nose beneath her eyes was small and delicate, but looked as if it had been broken.

Draco sucked in his breath as he stared at her. The young woman smiled at him softly and nodded in a greeting. He didn't respond, only continued to stare at her face. Her eyes were mesmerizing.

"Draco?" the Healer asked. "Are you alright?"

He only nodded and muttered incoherently as he slipped away, casting one last look behind his shoulder.

Once back in his room, he laid on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. It hadn't been too bad to leave the four white walls, but he didn't feel very eager to leave again. Time passed, and he rose to change for bed. He went to the wardrobe and curled up inside it again. No matter what any Healer said, he would never be free from the wardrobe.

As he laid on the wooden floor, his fingers throbbing with pain again, he thought of the emerald eyes. He wondered who they belonged to.

* * *

He didn't realize it at the time, but it was on January 13, 1999 that Draco Malfoy first met Astoria Greengrass.

* * *

**A/N** THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS. They seriously made my week better. Keep them coming, because I have no doubt I need some constructive criticism. I hope people enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. Thank you so much!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** I'm dead serious when I say, THANK YOU SO MUCH! I appreciate anyone who has taken the time to read this. It means so much to me. My plan is to update twice a week, most likely Sunday and Thursday (even though that is not what happened this week at all). Hopefully, I'll be able to actually follow that schedule. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

"Oi, you! We need one more for the game."

Draco's back stiffened against the wall as he shook his head.

"C'mon mate. Just one game," the wizard asked him.

Draco just shook his head again. The man shrugged and hollered at another young wizard who was reading a magazine upside down. Draco allowed his body to relax again.

He had been sitting in his own corner for the past few hours. It was secluded enough to shield him from any of the other patients, unless they were directly looking at him. No one hardly ever bothered him, and even if someone did speak to him, they soon left him alone. A few patients still possessed the ability to recognize him as a Malfoy. They tended to avoid him, and he was perfectly content to be left alone.

The day after his talk with Healer Derwent, Draco found that the door to his room was magically locked after he left for breakfast. He had tried to get back in, but without his wand, it was impossible. He had wandered around the hallways in the hours between breakfast and lunch and had scouted out a few good hiding spots. He would bury himself behind curtains and in closets to remain unnoticed. Draco still ate very little at his meals. He would pick at the food given to him, but he never was able to eat as much as he was supposed to. After lunch, he would go hide again, or retreat into the common room and shrink himself into the corner.

The common room in the ward reminded him of Hogwarts. There was a fireplace and various squishy armchairs throughout the room. There were game tables for wizard's chess, Gobstones, Exploding Snap, and a few Muggle games Draco was unfamiliar with. In another corner was a large table meant for art. Only a few patients spent their time there. A few bookshelves were lined up against one wall, along with a small collection of records and tapes that were occasionally played. There was a large radio tuned into the Wizarding Wireless Network, and a number of devoted listeners often sat around it. The daily reports were often centered around the rebuilding of Hogwarts, improvements in the Ministry of Magic, and efforts to apprehend the remaining Death Eaters. Draco's left arm always tingled when he heard those reports.

The wireless was silent today, and a number of patients were having a Gobstones tournament. Draco had been asked a few times if he would like to participate, and each invitation had been met with a curt decline.

Today he felt worse than he did on other days. He hadn't touched breakfast, only picked at lunch, and had angrily almost managed to break the doorknob off the door to his room. A group of Mediwizards had given him a potion and a few pills before leading him to the common room. There was a snag in the skin on his thumb, and he had been pulling and picking at it for the past ten minutes. It was starting to hurt, but he needed the pain.

He watched the tournament going on the center of the room and noticed how different each patient looked. On the outside, they seemed perfectly happy and normal. There was something about their eyes that gave it away. Things weren't fine. This section of the Janus Thickey ward had been opened for a reason.

The girl with the green eyes was looking at him. She looked at him sometimes, and he would pretend he didn't notice her. The second she glanced away, his eyes would shift, and he'd continue his newly formed habit of watching her. He didn't mean to do it all. It was just a reflex. She sat with a small group of people at meals, but during free time, she often sat by herself at the table in the corner. He noticed she didn't speak hardly at all, but she had a very lovely smile. He supposed at one point she was probably rather beautiful. However, her face had been reduced to a jagged patchwork of scars and burns, which only seemed to detract from her. He felt a little sad because of it.

Draco continued to watch her until he saw her looking back. He cast his eyes down to his hands and hoped she hadn't noticed. After waiting a few seconds, he peeked up to see her standing above him.

"Shite," he whispered under his breath.

"May I sit?" she asked.

Her voice was very soft and calm. He didn't move or breath a word.

"If you want to be alone, that's okay. But I'd like to sit next to you."

He jerked his head once and watched as she settled comfortably on the floor. She was dressed in Muggle jeans and a simple blue shirt. Her long brown hair was pushed up in a ponytail, and up close, Draco could see the thin lines of scars that ran down her arms. She couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen, and she was very thin. She pushed her back against the wall and directed her attention to the Gobstones tournament.

He tried to be interested in the games, but something about her kept poking a spot in his mind. He felt like he should know her from somewhere, but he couldn't place her.

"You've got a bit of blood on your finger," she said, breaking the silence.

"It's nothing," he replied as he placed his hands beneath his knees.

"I wouldn't want you to bleed to death."

"You don't even know me."

"Doesn't mean I want you to bleed to death. Here, put this on."

She pulled a thin strip of material from her pocket and removed the two tabs on it. She took his hand from his legs and wrapped the material around his bloodied finger.

"What is this?"

"A Muggle invention they use to stop blood flow. Healers took my wand, so I suppose this is the only way to do it."

He looked at the bandage. A part of him wanted to rip it off, but another part reasoned with him to keep it. The girl smiled at him before leaning back to resume her spectatorship of the tournament.

Draco studied her from the corner of his eye, and he couldn't help but feel more drawn to her. They sat for a while until he found his voice.

"Why d'you have those scars?" he asked her.

She turned her head towards him. Her eyes were unlike anything he'd ever seen. Up close, he could see the small flecks of gold hidden in the bright emerald ovals. They were so alive, so full, so enchanting.

She didn't say anything, but Draco could tell he'd hit a sore spot. Her eyes held a sadness that he knew she wasn't going to explain. The corners of her lips were set in a firm line, and he felt his breathing fall short. She didn't look away from him, and he was locked into place by her gaze.

He wasn't sure how long he spent looking at her, but the bell for dinner snapped him out of his reverie. She stood quickly and offered him a hand. He took it hesitantly, but allowed her to help him to his feet. She gave him a small smile before disappearing amongst the dinner crowd. He watched her go, his mind racing with the image of her. After losing sight of the girl, he slipped into his corner table for dinner. For a quarter of an hour, he picked at his food, unable to shake the image of the girl's face. He had to know her from somewhere...

Around eight o'clock, the door to his room unlocked, and he could finally slip back in. Normally he would make straight for the wardrobe, but this evening, he stretched on top of his bed, his eyes heavy. The sleeping potions that he'd been prescribed were only helpful in putting him to sleep. He still awoke every few hours screaming. He kicked off his shoes and socks and unbuttoned his shirt before sleep overcame him.

* * *

_Draco_.

_They'd summoned him to the dungeons again. They always needed him in the dungeons. Crabbe stood beside him, an eager grin on his face. Five students were lined up against the wall, each with a mixture of terror and defiance in their stance. Draco swallowed the lump in his throat as he gripped his wand. _

_"Teach them a lesson Draco," Alecto taunted behind him. "Make them pay for what they did." _

_One student with a Gryffindor tie stepped forward. _

_"You do not frighten us. You cannot stop us. Dumbledore's Army!" _

_"Punish him Draco!" _

_"_Crucio!"

_The young boy fell as he was hit by the curse, his screams echoing in the dungeons. _

_He watched as the boy writhed and clawed the ground, biting his lip and fighting the emotions raging inside of him. _

_"You take the next one Crabbe," Alecto cooed. "Show little Draco here how it's done." _

_Crabbe eagerly raised his wand to the next student, a girl with a Ravenclaw tie. _

_"_Crucio!_"_

_Before the girl fell, he looked into her face. Her eyes were a vivid emerald green._

* * *

When Draco woke up, his breathing was heavy, and his hands shook. He could still see her face, twisted with agony. He finally remembered.

* * *

January 21st of 1999 marked the date of Draco Malfoy's first conversation with Astoria Greengrass. It would be the first of many.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: I said I had an update schedule, and here I am not keeping it. I promise I will do my best to stick to it. Right now I have about twenty planned and outlined chapters, with most of them containing either a rough draft or at least a summary of what will happen. Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! They mean a lot to me, and as always, enjoy.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was not a morning person. He did not like waking up, he did not like being disturbed, and he especially did not like the people who loved mornings. Those people were too damn cheerful, and he was better off without them. In his days at Hogwarts, he would stay curled up in his bed until the last possible minute and always had his fingers crossed that he would not get too many morning classes.

His dislike for the morning also lent itself to his dislike for breakfast foods. On a rare occasion, the house-elves at Hogwarts would serve breakfast foods for dinner. While most students squealed and bounced at the sight of pancakes, French toast, Belgium waffles, piles of bacon, eggs, and sausage rolls, Draco would roll his eyes at the food. Like morning people, breakfast food was too damn cheerful.

Breakfast in the Janus Thickey ward was held at nine o'clock each morning. Draco tried to skip out on it as much as he could. He was still under heavy supervision and was required to leave his room each morning at 8:30. He usually took advantage of this time to curl up inside an empty storage closet or room. Sometimes he would fall asleep, but not very often. Once he ended up in a closet that was filled with thick, furry winter coats, and he liked that hiding spot best. The coats formed a layer of protection around him, and he knew they would conceal him if anyone should come looking for him.

On one early February morning, Draco was dozing in his bed. He had awoken a few hours earlier and had shivered and whispered quietly to himself until he fell back asleep. His dreams were not as frequent, but they were as vivid as ever. For the past hour, he had been drifting in and out of consciousness, and all of a sudden, he felt his bed sink down a little further. Someone had come to sit on his bed. Draco bit back a few curses before squeezing his eyes tighter. Perhaps if this person saw him sleeping, they might go away.

There was no movement. Draco tried to go to sleep, but his mind wouldn't stop drifting back to the figure on his bed. With great reluctance and annoyance, he slowly opened his eyes. The girl with green eyes sat towards the end of his bed. She had her knees pulled up to her chest and was smiling at him.

"Hi," her quiet voice greeted.

"What are you doing here?" he grumbled.

"I think you should come to breakfast this morning."

"No."

He rolled over away from her and pulled his covers closer to his chin. She didn't budge an inch, and he couldn't go back to sleep knowing she was watching him.

"Will you leave?" he said curtly.

"I really think you should come eat breakfast."

"I don't want it. Breakfast is a horrible meal," he snapped.

"Then will you come sit with me?"

He was taken aback.

"What?"

"Come sit with me. You don't have to eat if you don't want to."

He sat up. "You want me to sit with you?" he asked disbelieving.

She smiled at him. "Will you?"

He wasn't sure how long he stared at her, but soon he was pushing his covers back.

"One time," he mumbled. "Just the one."

She waited patiently as he went to the wardrobe to grab a fresh shirt. With his back to her, he slipped the old one off and the new one on before she could get a good look at his thin form. He wasn't ready for anyone to see him like that.

He followed her out of the room and down the hallway toward the dining hall. They blended in with the other patients who were making their way to breakfast. Many wore a single long gown and walked barefoot. He noticed how the girl was also barefoot.

She slid onto a bench at his corner table, and he sat across from her. She whispered softly and her food appeared before her: scrambled eggs, two pieces of toast with jam, and an orange. She grinned at the food and dug right in.

"This is the first day they're letting me use a fork," she said after finishing off her eggs.

He raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because they think they know me."

He didn't say anything as she spread jam on her toast.

"They still won't let me," he finally said.

She nodded. "Still convinced you're a danger to yourself?"

"I am a danger to myself."

She swallowed. "You don't look like it."

"What d'you mean?" he asked.

"Anyone considered a serious threat to their own well-being is kept in solitary confinement. They wouldn't let you be out wandering around if it was still serious."

He thought on that. "I think they're monitoring me."

She gave a short, bitter laugh. "That's nothing new."

They both went silent as the girl bit into her toast with a crunch. Draco wasn't sure if it was just from watching her eat, but his stomach was starting to rumble. He didn't know if he wanted to throw up or eat something. He settled for crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know who you are," he said finally.

She wiped her mouth and took a sip of water. "I'd say not."

"I just..." he dropped off.

The girl finished her toast and emptied her water glass. She took the apple from her tray and placed it in Draco's hand. Her fingers brushed against the inside of his palm, and he felt a tingling sensation in his stomach.

"Thank you for sitting with me."

She smiled at him before rising and exiting without another word. His eyes followed her until she vanished. He looked back at the apple and turned it over in his hands. It was a bright red. He saw her eyes as he took the first bite. It crunched between his teeth and settled happily in his stomach.

* * *

Later that afternoon, he sat in a corner near the art table. A few patients were seated there, along with a supervising Healer. The Healer was plump and mother-like, and she absolutely doted on the work each patient did. The girl was sitting at the table, her green eyes full of concentration as she bent over with a quill in hand.

Draco had decided he liked watching her while she worked. There was just something there that held his attention. She bit down on her lip as her hand glided across the page. Occasionally, she'd nod her head and smile to herself before she continued. Draco wasn't sure what she was drawing. He kind of wanted to see it, but he was not about to get up to go to her. Not a soul had even looked at him since he had stationed himself in this corner. Moving now would draw unwanted attention to himself. He watched her for a few more minutes before she caught him. She picked up her drawing and lowered herself down next to him. Draco didn't understand how, but she always seemed to reserve a very soft and warm smile for him. She positioned her drawing in her lap, and he leaned over to see.

It was done in black ink, but he was taken aback by how beautiful it was. The drawing was a landscape of a large moor. The grasses looked to be blown about by a strong, unseen wind, and the hills and mountains in the distance were crooked and lumped in a way Draco had never seen.

"D'you like it?" she asked.

"Yeah," he whispered.

She rolled up the parchment.

"You can keep it if you want," she said, holding the parchment out to him.

He shook his head. "I couldn't."

"You sure?"

"You wouldn't want me to have something like that," he said as he averted his eyes from her.

She studied him before she put the drawing back in her lap.

"What's wrong?" she asked him.

"Nothing," he murmured.

"I think there's something bothering you. Like really eating away at you. But you won't talk about it with anyone, so it's getting worse."

"You don't know me."

"I do. I do know you," she said firmly. "Are you going to tell me?"

"No."

The anger was bubbling inside of him. He could feel it rising, and he didn't want this girl to be the person he took it out on. His fists clenched tightly, and he took a few deep breaths. The Healer said to always take deep breaths, count to twenty, and let go of his anger. Breath, count, let go. He did so for a few minutes, tuning out everything except the sound of his breathing. He felt the muscles in his body loosening, and his mind calmed down.

"Draco? Draco?"

He heard her words again and took his time to respond to them.

"I'm fine." He tilted his head back against the wall. "How'd you know my name?"

"I told you. I know you," she answered.

She stood up, placing the rolled up drawing on the floor space next to him. "I'll be seeing you."

He watched her walk away, and his mouth began moving before his brain could tell him to stop.

"What's your name?"

She turned her head back and gave him one last smile.

"Astoria."

* * *

February 13, 1999 was an important date for many people. Flower stands and greeting card shops always had their best business on February 13th. Last minute dates were always scheduled on the day. Single women around the world spent the day dreading the next morning and its emphasis on love.

For Draco Malfoy, the day marked something greater. February 13, 1999 would forever be the day Astoria Greengrass first visited him. It was the day he first saw her artwork. But above all, it was the day he first realized he did not like being alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N **I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. On the upside, Washington DC is really, really great if you can manage to avoid all the eighth graders on their field trips. Also, that Library of Congress... Thank you to all those who review, you truly make my day!

* * *

Draco Malfoy sat his table alone. The plate in front of him was empty. Every bite of food he had just consumed was settling comfortable in his stomach. The food hadn't been much, just baked chicken and steamed broccoli, but it was the first meal he had eaten in weeks. He smiled to himself and took another sip of water.

It was taking time, but he was starting to gain an appetite again. His frame was still painfully thin, but he no longer resembled a walking skeleton. He ate more frequently, but still sparsely. The Healers would still say it wasn't enough. For Draco, the food he was eating was fine.

His moods at meal times were irregular. Some days he felt good and ate well. Other days he would sit and scowl at his food, picking at it with his fingers because he still was not allowed to use utensils. It frustrated him.

Some days he ate his meals alone, but more than often, the girl Astoria would be waiting for him at his table. Her appetite waned often like his did, but she always tried to eat something. At least once a week, she wouldn't join him during the day, and he would spend a lot of time in his corner hypothesizing where she was. Astoria liked her secrets almost as much as he liked his. He could count on one hand the things he knew about her. She liked to draw and paint. Her voice managed to be soft and firm at the same time. She was almost as painfully thin as he was, and she smelled like rain and apples. Her smile was almost as intoxicating as the color of her eyes.

Healer Derwent had scheduled a meeting with him after lunch, and Draco knew it was probably for his evaluation. Every patient in the ward had an evaluation once a month, and how their evaluation went usually signaled when their time at the Janus Thickey ward had concluded. Draco had refused to get out of bed for his first evaluation.

The Head Healer's office was close to Draco's room. The marble white floor beneath his feet had been polished recently, and Draco could see his reflection in it as he knocked on the door. It creaked open, and Healer Derwent smiled as Draco walked in.

"Mr. Malfoy."

Draco nodded a greeting and sat in a chair across the Healer's desk. Papers were piled high in neat stacks, and a small plaque read "Derwent."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Draco answered.

"Your color is improving. Have you been eating?"

"A little."

The Healer nodded and pulled a file out from his drawer.

"We've noticed that your nightmares are still rather vivid."

"Yes."

"Draco, you know it would help if we..."

"No," Draco said, his tone turning sharp.

"It would only be to help the potions have a more specific point to focus on."

"I said no."

Healer Derwent sat back in his chair. "Very well. You'll continue with the generic potions we have."

He scribbled something on Draco's file. "Draco, I think you've progressed to a point where I think you can handle this."

"Handle what?" he asked hesitantly.

"I think you need to start meeting with our wizarding psychologist. Her name is Healer Wood."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "What's a wizarding psychologist?"

"It's a rather underground profession. Only exceptionally trained Healers apply for the job, and most quit after a few months. We derived it from a similar Muggle profession."

"What do they do?"

Healer Derwent smiled. "They do a lot of things. They're listeners mostly."

"I don't understand."

"You will. Healer Wood will meet with you on Tuesdays at two o'clock."

"Is my attendance required?"

The Head Healer didn't speak, but studied Draco intently. Draco stared back and could see signs of amusement in the Healer's eyes.

"Yes."

Draco sighed, but didn't fight back. The sooner he could leave this place behind, the better. "Fine. What else is there?"

Healer Derwent laughed. "You know us too well Draco. Based on your performance the past few weeks, the other Healers and I agree that you need a room change."

Draco's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"We'll be moving you down the hall. You'll have a roommate."

"Why can't I just stay in my own room?"

"Do you really want to stay there?"

In all honesty, Draco did not. He hated that room, the walls, the floor, the cramped space, the daunting wardrobe.

"A Healer will come by to help you with your things," Healer Derwent continued.

"I don't have much," he muttered.

He stood up to leave. "What's the room number?"

"303. And his name is Logan. Your roommate."

* * *

An hour later, Draco sat in the common room with his knees pulled close to his chest. The idea of moving rooms was so foreign to him. He always assumed he would either live in his white-walled prison for years to come or he would die in it. He had really been banking on the dying part. Healer Derwent was too confident about him. Draco was not ready to be living with someone. He didn't know anyone named Logan, and he was worried about the type of person he'd be. Logan would probably hate him.

"Draco."

He snapped himself out of his thoughts and saw the green eyes. "Hi," he said.

Astoria settled down on the floor next to him. "How come you weren't at dinner?" she asked.

"Why weren't you at lunch," he retorted.

She smiled. "Fair enough. Okay?"

Astoria always asked him that question. "Okay?" He didn't even know what she meant by it. He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm moving."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You're leaving?"

He shook his head. "No, just moving rooms. Head Healer's putting me with a roommate."

She looked confused. "You didn't have a roommate before?"

"No. Never."

"But you..."

"I know," he said, his voice dropping low.

She was silent, her mind processing his words. "I'll help you with your stuff."

"I don't have much. Hardly anything really."

"I still want to help." She stood and offered her hand to help him. Whenever he took her hand, he could always see the beginnings of the jagged lines that ran up her arms. He caught himself wanting to hold onto her and see where those scars led. Quickly, he pulled his hand away and trekked through the hallways, weaving between other patients and Healers.

The door to his room was unlocked and slightly ajar. His sheets were rumpled and askew on his bed, and his old pillow was ripped in several spots. Draco kept his head ducked as he went to the wardrobe. He pulled out the few clothes he had and laid them across his arms.

"I'll take them," Astoria said. She reached out for them, but Draco scooted away.

"They aren't that heavy."

Her eyes bore into his a moment before she looked back at the wardrobe. With the door open, the lights illuminated the inside of the wardrobe, and Draco could see what Astoria must see. Every single mark on the floor: short and long, wide and thin, each with splinters sticking out.

He moved to close the door, but her hand caught it. Astoria was good at keeping a blank face, but her eyes seemed to convey everything to him. He could see something like sadness in her.

"How many of those are there?" she asked.

He felt a little ashamed that he knew. "Fifty-nine," he answered, keeping his voice level.

Astoria knelt down to the floor and ran her fingers over a mark. The wood was rough and jagged against her skin, but she paid no attention to it. With her head bowed, she ran her fingers over each mark, one at a time. Draco knew she touched all of them because he counted.

Wordlessly, she rose and focused all her attention on him. He tried to think of an explanation he could give her, but nothing was coming to him. He felt the shame heating his face, and he almost jumped when she took his hand. Her fingers were as cold as ice, but her touch was gentle. Her thumb ran over each of his fingers, and Draco felt a shiver running through him.

"I was..." he began.

She shook her head. "I don't need to know. This is a part of you Draco. But please, don't do it anymore. Okay?"

He nodded silently.

"No, I need to hear you say it."

His voice was soft as he reassured her. "Okay."

"And if you feel like you want to or have to or are going to, come find me. Okay?"

He nodded again. "Okay."

She pressed her nose against his knuckled. "Let's get you moved in."

With clothes draped over one arm and Astoria's fingers laced with his, he walked into an entirely separate hallway, one he had never really thought about being there. Inside his new room were two beds, perfectly identical to his old bed with the exception of being neat and tidy. There was a built-in closet, a small table with a lamp between the two beds. A young boy sat on the bed nearest to them. From first look, Draco figured he couldn't be more than ten or eleven. He had sandy blond hair, and freckles dotted his face. The boy looked up from a book on his lap at Draco and Astoria.

"Hi," he said.

"Are you Logan?" Draco asked.

The boy nodded. "A Healer said you'd come. Who is she?" He gestured to Astoria.

She smiled at him. "I'm Astoria. It's nice to meet you Logan."

He smiled back before he returned to his book.

"I'll leave you to it Draco. See you tomorrow," she said in her soft voice. Draco hadn't realized her hand was still in his until he felt the empty spaces between his fingers.

It didn't take long for him to put away his clothes. After folding his shirts and pants, Draco settled onto his bed, content with cocooning himself in his sheets. Logan had barely moved. Occasionally, Draco would hear the rustle of a page being turned. He almost felt curious to ask Logan what he was reading. Almost. Draco huddled himself into the blankets.

"Draco?" Logan's voice had not begun to change yet.

"Yeah?"

"I... I have these... Some nights... I might wake you up," Logan stuttered.

Draco peered out from his sheets at the boy. Every patient in the ward had been diagnosed similarly. Logan's case was more than likely related to Draco's. Draco wouldn't be screaming alone tonight.

"You can't wake me up if I don't sleep," Draco said before turning over.

* * *

February 28, 1999 was a day that often slipped into the cracks of Draco's memory. He could remember how Astoria had touched him that day, the feeling of her fingers in his. It was a feeling he would never forget. Between Astoria and Logan, February 28th undoubtedly marked a turning point in the life of Draco Malfoy.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N **Finally posting this chapter, which has gone through several revisions, and I'm still not sure if I like it as much as I want to. Reviews are much appreciated, and a big thank you to all those who have reviewed so far. You guys are the greatest!

* * *

_Draco_.

_His wand was trembling in his fingers, and he felt his breath come up in heaves. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do it. The Headmaster's face was too kind, too concerned. He couldn't find the words. _

_The Death Eater's surrounded him. _

_"Do it Draco," they each urged with maniacal glee. "Finish him."_

_But he couldn't do it. Not for anything. He wasn't sure if it was sweat or tears that were pouring down his face, but he felt it all the same. They were watching him, and they could see him falter. His mother and father would pay for this. The Dark Lord would punish all of them. He couldn't do it. _

_He was shouldered aside by a dark figure. It was the man who promised to do what he could not. He watched him raise his wand, and the Headmaster's lips formed a plea. _

_"Severus... Severus, please."_

"Avada Kedavra!"

_And the Headmaster fell. He watched the body drop from the tower and heard it break when it finally hit the ground. The lifeless eyes, the twisted bones, the blood..._

* * *

He awoke with a start. Sweat coated his face and chest, and his heart was pounding. He panted as if he had just finished a marathon and gripped the sides of his bed. It was over now. Judging from the lack of light from the window, it was still early morning. He swung his legs off the side of his bed and lowered his head into his hands. Every emotion from that long-ago night was still with him.

"Draco?"

Logan was lying on his side, eyes wide. "Are you alright?" he asked fearfully.

He couldn't answer him. Not yet. Draco sat with his head between his knees and breathed heavily. He focused on each motion, and slowly, his heart returned to its normal rhythm. He waited a few more minutes before addressing Logan.

"I'm fine," he said quietly. "Go back to sleep."

"I can't," Logan said, his voice uneven. "I've been up for hours."

Draco ignored his comment and rolled back into his own bed. His first appointment with the special Healer was today at two, and Draco had been puzzling over what it would be like.

"Draco?"

"Mmmm," he muttered. He wasn't going back to sleep, but he would pretend to. Logan might be able to relax and get some sleep if he thought Draco was too.

"You talk in your sleep. You say a lot of stuff," Logan said in a soft voice.

Draco stiffened.

"It's hard to understand what you're saying," Logan continued. "Do you have nightmares like I do?"

Draco sat up to face him. "My nightmares are different from yours. I can guarantee they're worse. Now go to sleep Logan."

He closed his eyes and felt Logan's stare pierce into him until the boy finally went to sleep.

Logan was gone when Draco went to breakfast. His bed was unmade, and his dirty clothes were piled on the floor. Feelings of guilt stabbed Draco in his mind. Logan was just a young boy. He picked at his bacon and toast and barely noticed Astoria as she slid onto the bench. Her plate appeared with eggs and a biscuit, but she ignored it. Draco caught her gaze, and she looked tired.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "What about you? Your eyes are bloodshot."

He ducked his head and muttered, "It's nothing." He hated it when she saw him like this, hated when she knew how bad he was.

"You have your appointment today right? With Healer Wood?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

She reached across the table for his hand. "Tell me how it goes. Okay?" She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Okay," he said back, raising his head. She smiled at him, but he could see the bags under her eyes. "You should try to nap. You know, after lunch or something."

She shook her head. "I don't think I can. Too much noise. Too many people walking by my room. And I just... I just... I just can't."

"Use my room," he offered before realizing what he was saying. "I've got my appointment, and Logan keeps to himself if he's even in the room."

"Are you sure?" Her face was skeptical.

"I'm sure," he said, his lips forming a soft smile.

He hadn't smiled like that for a long time.

* * *

Healer Wood was a no-nonsense type of person. Her office was neat and orderly, and all the books on her bookshelf were alphabetized and categorized. Her Healer robes were well kept and pressed. But her attitude did not stop her from smiling warmly at Draco as he sat in a chair across from her.

"It's nice to meet you Draco," she began, extending her hand. "I'm sure you already know this, but I'm Healer Wood and I work on call as the wizarding psychologist here at St. Mungo's."

Draco nodded as he shook her hand.

"Now, let's talk about you," Healer Wood continued, her voice level and calm. "How are you today?"

Draco sat back in his chair, with his fingers laced together in his lap. "I'm fine."

"And would you care to elaborate on that? What are you feeling? What sorts of things are you thinking about?" She shifted the clipboard in her lap.

"I don't... I don't know. I guess I just feel sort of... Nothing. Everything's just kind of a motion for me," he said, his voice quiet.

"Everything is a motion for you," the Healer repeated. "What do you mean by that Draco?"

He felt himself fidget in his chair, and he inhaled deeply. "For a long time, I haven't had any desire to live. I thought I didn't deserve to live anymore, and I still think that a lot."

"Your record says you would intentionally withhold food from yourself?"

"Yeah," he said.

"And sleep?"

"Yeah," he answered, his voice getting quieter.

"And you often harmed yourself?"

"Yeah," he whispered as he directed his eyes away from Healer Wood. This was too much, too suffocating, and he couldn't do this.

"Draco, do you want to live?" she asked him gently.

When Draco did not respond, she continued. "Draco, everything you say to me in here is kept confidentially between me and you. I am here to try to help you. You have experienced truly awful events, and myself and the rest of the staff want to see you improve. But we cannot help you get better if you don't trust me. Do you trust me Draco?"

His eyes finally met Healer Wood's. "Yes," Draco said. "Yes, I do want to live. But I don't deserve to."

Healer Wood nodded. "It takes a lot of courage to admit that you feel this way Draco. And I think this is a good starting place for us."

A quill flew into her hand as she scribbled something on her clipboard.

"I'd like to continue meeting with you on Tuesdays at two. Does that work for you?"

He nodded as she continued writing.

"Our sessions will be about an hour long, and I want these sessions to be a time for you to be able to speak freely about anything. Do you think you can do that?"

He nodded again. "I'll try."

She smiled. "I think we'll both benefit from this. It was nice to meet you Draco."

He shook her hand again before he made for the door.

"And Draco, I know you may not believe me, but you do. You do deserve to live."

He closed the door quietly behind him.

* * *

Draco walked back to his room, his mind wandering as he thought about what sort of things they would talk about in his sessions. A part of him dreaded going, but another part of him felt elated. He could speak freely about himself. As he walked back to his room, he felt a smile creep onto his face.

Astoria had taken up his offer, and he could see her curled up under his sheets. Her hair was bunched up on his pillow, and her mouth hung open slightly. He crept closer to her, hoping he wouldn't wake her. She looked peaceful sleeping in his bed, and the thought of that made him feel warm. He stood beside his bed for a few minutes before exiting, his smile bigger than before.

* * *

After dinner, Draco sat in the common room in his corner. A few kids were playing Exploding Snap, and a group of older witches and wizards were huddled around the wireless. The volume had been turned down, so Draco could not hear what was happening. It was better that he didn't hear about the Death Eaters.

He hadn't seen Astoria at dinner, and he assumed she was mostly likely still asleep in his bed. He wished his mind could capture pictures, like a camera. Then he could keep that image of her, wrapped up in his sheets and her breathing soft and rhythmic. She looked smaller while she was sleeping, almost like he could fit her into the palm of his hand.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice her until she slid next to him.

"Hey," she greeted with a small yawn.

"Hi. I see you had a nice nap."

She smiled. "You have a very nice bed Draco. And a very quiet roommate."

"Yeah, he's alright."

"He thinks you hate him."

"I don't," he defended.

"Then you should talk to him more. He's a good kid."

He didn't respond, but instead noticed the book resting on her lap. It was huge.

"What is that?"

"Why Draco, haven't you ever seen a book before," she said smirking.

He rolled his eyes. "Ha bloody ha."

"Don't be so serious Draco. Here ."

She thrust the book into his hands. It was one of the thickest books he had ever seen. It was a paperback, and the dimensions were similar to a large brick.

"_Les Misérables_," he read from the cover.

"You speak French?" she asked him.

"Mum made me learn a little. Wanted me to be well-rounded."

He flipped through the pages. "Bloody hell this thing is huge. Who wrote this?"

"A lovely man named Victor Hugo," she said smiling. "Turn it over."

He turned it to the back and read the summary. "What's all this? What revolution?"

"Good question. I don't really know. But it sounded interesting when I picked it."

"Where in the world did you get this?"

"We have bookshelves Draco, in case you've forgotten." She gestured towards the shelves across the room.

"So why are you reading this? I've never even heard of this man."

"You probably wouldn't. He's a Muggle writer."

Draco let go of the book and it fell with a soft thump into his lap. "A Muggle? A Muggle wrote this book? What's it doing here?"

Astoria's eyes hardened, and she reached over for the book. "The Healers placed a huge order for Muggle books when they first opened this ward. Do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"Because there is something very healing about their words. It's a magic we can't explain." She gripped the book tightly. "I know how you feel about Muggles, but I think if you gave it a chance, you might like it."

He reached for the book and took it from her hands. The page count was over one thousand. "You want me to read this?" he asked.

She nodded. "Words can be healing."

"What about you?"

"I'll read it with you. I thought... I thought we could take turns reading it aloud to each other. You know, keep it interesting," she said, her eyes alive once more.

He looked at the Muggle book, and he could see the hundred of Muggle bodies piled high in the streets. He could see the Dark Lord's grin as he killed them one after another. He saw their horror, their pain, and he could hear their screams before their small lives were cut short. He saw his own father, cursing the Muggles and hitting them with spell after spell. He saw the smoldering ruins of their Muggle homes and their demolished world. He saw their libraries toppled over, and the books set aflame. A chill ran through him, and he pressed his forehead to the cover of the book.

"Draco?"

"Yeah," he answered, raising his head back up. "Yeah I'll read it with you. I'd... I think I'd like that."

She reached for his hand and laced her fingers in his. Her hand was still cold to the touch, but he liked the feeling. "Let's start. Do you want to read first?"

He nodded and flipped to the first page. "In 1815 Monsieur Charles-Francois-Bienvenu Myrriel was bishop of Digne..."

* * *

Draco Malfoy had never been the world's most avid reader. He certainly had never read anything written by a Muggle. But March 11, 1999 marked a new step for him. Reading would never be the same.


	7. Chapter 7

**I hope the length of this chapter makes up for my lateness. And again, THANK YOU to you lovely people who review!**** It truly makes my day. Please enjoy!**

* * *

The days of March disappeared one after another. For Draco Malfoy, March was a month of normalcy. His days were more or less the same, with some variation in between. Breakfast was always at 8:30. He rarely ate during breakfast, except on really good days. Astoria would join him for breakfast, her long hair usually pulled back and her eyes sleepy. After breakfast was when they read _Les Miserables_. If the common room was too crowded or noisy, they would go back to Draco's room to read. Some days Logan would be there.

"Come listen Logan," Astoria always said to him with a kind smile. He usually shook his head and kept to his side of the room, but Draco knew the boy listened when the story picked up.

They would usually read until lunchtime. Logan would walk with them to lunch. Astoria always made a point to ask him to sit with her and Draco. Draco usually never said much during lunchtime conversations and was content enough to listen to Astoria and Logan. Astoria adored the boy, and Logan had begun to feel more comfortable around them both.

After lunch was when they went their separate ways. Draco's sessions with Healer Wood were on Tuesdays. Astoria had sessions on Thursdays, and Logan had sessions on Sundays. When Draco wasn't in with a Healer, he would linger near the art table and watch Astoria draw. Other times, he would look at the books on the bookshelves. A lot of titles were foreign to him, and he soon figured out that almost all the books were written by Muggles. He found a few more interesting than others, and he made mental notes for which ones he wanted to read after he and Astoria were done with _Les Miserables_.

The afternoons stretched out, and sometimes he would go back to his room and try to sleep. He was less prone to dreams during the day than he was at night. Most days he would lie in his bed with his eyes open, his mind drowning in his thoughts. Once or twice, he had gone back to the common room and played a game of Exploding Snap with a wizard named Henry. Dinner was an easy meal for him to attend. He would eat, smile, talk, and later go to bed feeling hopeful. Those were his good days.

With every good day, there seemed to be a bad one not too far behind. Those were the days when he wouldn't get out of bed. Those were days he didn't eat or only picked at food. Those were days when he yelled at Healer Wood, or he would become nonresponsive. On bad days, he would hide in the hall closets with his legs pulled up to his chest. Logan was always scared of him on the bad days, and he was always angry with himself. The bad days were the days when he would rake his fingernails across his left arm and clench his teeth in pain and anger. Astoria always knew what to do when he had bad days. She sat by his bed when he refused to get out. She knew which closets he'd hidden himself away in and how to coax him out of them. She held his hand tightly on those days, and didn't say much to him. The bad days always seemed to drag on.

It was in early April that Draco Malfoy had a good and bad day, all within a twenty-four hour span.

* * *

When his nightmares woke him early in the morning, Draco could hear the rain pouring on the roof. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He had never been overly fond of rain. Logan was sleeping soundly in his bed. Quietly, Draco crossed their room and changed clothes for the day. He slipped out the door, the thoughts in his head cycling. For the past week, his nightmares had revolved around his seventh year at Hogwarts. He always woke up from those dreams petrified and shaking, his body covered in a cold sweat.

A large clock in the hallway informed him that it was about six o'clock in the morning. The hallway was quiet and abandoned, and he was able to relax his breathing as he found a closet off the corner of the adjacent hallway. He slipped in and curled up into the back. Here, everyone could be safe from him.

It was hours later when Astoria found him. A sliver of light shown on his legs as the door creaked open, and then she was seated next to him. In the dark, she reached for his hand and laced her fingers between his.

"Draco?"

He didn't respond. She squeezed his hand gently and leaned her head against the wall. They sat together in silence for a while, Astoria rubbing her thumb across his knuckles.

"Draco?" she asked again, after time had passed.

He squeezed her hand softly.

"Are you ready?"

He nodded even though she couldn't see him. Astoria led him out the small door and into the bright lights of the ward. He wanted to let go of her and bury himself back in the closet, but she was steady and kept moving forward. Draco allowed her to lead him into the dining hall. She spoke his name for him and a plate of roasted potatoes appeared. Her own named produced a small salad with crackers. Draco watched her as she took one bite of lettuce and tomato and promptly pushed her plate away. Astoria had her bad days, just like he did.

"Hey," he said softly. She looked at him, and he could see more closely how red her eyes were and how pale her skin was.

"Thank you."

She nodded. "You're welcome."

"We could've stayed in there."

"No," she answered shaking her head. "I... I can't. I can't stay in there."

He pushed his plate of potatoes away and reached for her hand.

"You need to eat," she said.

"I can't today."

"Draco. Just one bite. Just eat one bite and I won't say anything."

Her eyes held his gaze, and he relinquished. He lifted a forkful of the potatoes to his mouth and chewed it slowly.

"Thank you," she said gratefully as he swallowed.

She slouched in the bench.

"Something's wrong," he said.

"I'm fine Draco," Astoria answered. "I'm just tired."

He felt his throat constrict. "That's what I say. You've heard me say that every single day."

Her chest tightened, and her face paled. "I don't want to talk about it," she murmured. "Please, don't make me talk about it. I've already seen three healers today, and I'm so sick and tired of explaining and listening, and all anybody ever says is that I need to rest more and relax more. But I just can't, and I'm tired and angry and I just want it to stop raining. The damn rain is depressing me, and I'm trying not to be depressed because you're having a really bad day, and Logan told me you barely slept last night, and you were in that closet for hours, and I was so afraid you weren't going to come out. I'm so afraid that one day I'll find you in one of those closets and you'll be dead or comatose or so far gone that you can't come back."

"Hey," he said firmly, his hand encasing hers. "Hey. Don't... Don't worry about that."

"Are you saying it will never happen? Can you honestly say that won't happen?" she demanded.

"No," he answered quietly. "No I can't promise that. But I don't want you to make yourself sick because of me."

"Draco, I don't choose to worry about you. I just feel it. Whenever I see you hide yourself away or refuse to get out of bed, that fear and worry, it just happens."

Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes, and the guilt in his chest doubled. "Don't... Please don't."

His words failed him, and he couldn't think of anything to say to her. He felt so tired, and he knew she was tired. "Come on," he said.

She followed him from the dining hall back to his room. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was empty. His bed sheets were twisted and wrinkled, and he pushed them off the bed to the floor. Draco gestured towards the bed, and Astoria practically fell onto the sheets. Her body curled into the bed, and she closed her eyes as her head found his pillow. Her hand was still entwined with his. He moved to release her from him, but Astoria's fingers clung to him.

"Stay."

His throat felt dry, but he complied to her. Draco crawled to the other side of his bed and laid on his back, Astoria's hand on his chest.

"Draco?" she whispered, her eyes still closed.

"Yeah?"

"Can you read to me for a while?"

_Les Miserables_ was on his bedside table. He reached for it and flipped the book open.

"D'you remember where we were?"

"Valjean is conflicted whether or not to save Champmathieu," Astoria whispered to him.

Draco found the page and began to read.

* * *

He read for hours that day. His voice was hoarse when he finally put the book down. Astoria had shifted her head to rest against his shoulder, and her steady breathing was the only sound in the room. The rain had ceased to a dull drizzle, and the moonlight poured in through the window. He smiled to himself, and the dread and horror he had felt in the morning had subsided for the time being.

He shifted onto his side, and Astoria stirred.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"It's only nine. Go back to sleep," Draco answered as he stretched one arm.

Astoria sat up and blinked the sleep from her eyes. "Where's Logan?"

Draco gestured toward Logan's bed; his small form was curled up and snoring slightly. "He's asleep."

"Already?"

"He has bad days too."

Astoria stood and leaned close to Draco's ear. "I'll be right back."

She slipped out of the room, and Draco remained on his bed, his legs hanging off the side. Astoria came back a few minutes later, dressed in baggy blue shorts and a bright yellow t-shirt. She sat down on Draco's mattress and crossed her legs.

"Do you mind if I stay?"

He shook his head and tilted his head as he spotted the emblem of an eagle on the leg of her shorts. "What house were you in?" he asked.

She smiled at him. "House of wit and wisdom, none other than the great Ravenclaw! Why, what house did you think I was in?"

He shrugged. "I dunno, I guess I just thought... I dunno." He pulled his legs up and leaned his back against the wall. "Though the yellow, that has to be Hufflepuff."

"Yeah it is."

"Well," he urged, "Were you secretly a Hufflepuff too or what?"

She chuckled at him. "My boyfriend was a Hufflepuff. I wore the shirt when we didn't play them in Quidditch."

His eyebrows raised. "Boyfriend?"

"Yes Draco, I did have one," she said smiling.

"What's his name?"

"Miles. He was in my year."

"You know, I don't even know how old you are," he remarked. "You've never told me."

"I'd say not. I'll be eighteen in the fall."

"You'd be a seventh year this year?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I guess I would be."

They sat in silence before he spoke again. "You know what's pathetic? I don't even know your last name."

Astoria snorted, which immediately turned into full-blown laughter. She had to thrust her fist into her mouth to stifle her laugh. "You-You're-You're serious?" she gasped.

He shrugged his shoulders, trying to hide his smile. "You never told me."

She fell back onto his pillow. "It's Greengrass."

His mouth dropped. "Are you kidding?"

"Not a chance," she said, her voice tinted with laughter.

"You're a Greengrass?"

"You can test my blood Draco. It's as green as it comes."

He stared at her incredulously. "So Daphne is..."

"My sister," she finished. "Yes. She's a bit dense, but I love her to death."

"And your parents..."

"Hyperion and Eileen Greengrass."

"You-you're."

She smiled. "I know. A lovely Greengrass. Born and bred in Ireland, relocated to England, and currently residing in a mental ward."

"Ireland?" he asked.

"Mum's Irish. Dad met her on a family vacation. Bit of a scandal actually, a well-bred Greengrass marrying a poor Irish girl, even if she was pureblood. But he liked her, and surprisingly, she liked him, though Grandmother always took the piss out of her. We lived in Ireland until I was eight, and then we moved to England."

"Why didn't you stay in Ireland?"

She shrugged. "Dad said it was because he wanted to be closer to Hogwarts. Daphne was in school by then. I never really understood."

"Do you miss it there?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, her smile reaching her eyes, "Yeah I do. It was so beautiful, where we lived. We lived near the coast in west Ireland, by this town called Tralee. Daph and I would run off and play outside for hours. We lived away from the Muggles, and the house was enchanted so that they could never spot us. When I was big enough, we raced along the cliffs on our brooms and out over the ocean. The water was more blue than anything I'd ever seen, and the land was so green. Everything was that perfect emerald green."

He couldn't imagine anything more green than her eyes, but he nodded. She rolled onto her side and propped her head on her arm.

"So what about you Draco?"

"What about me?"

"I just basically told you my life story. It's your turn."

He snorted. "Life story? You didn't tell me that much."

"Then just tell me things like I told you. Start with your House."

"I think you know what House I was in..."

"I still want you to tell me," she replied.

He knit his hands together and sighed. "I was in Slytherin, just like my mother and father. The Hat barely had to touch my head. It knew where I belonged."

"And did you like it?" Astoria asked him.

Draco nodded. "Yeah, mostly. I think the worst part was the pressure. My father... He wanted me to be the best. I tried, but it was never good enough for him. Always disappointed that I wasn't top of the class, furious that a Mudblood was doing better than I was, and always expecting me to do the same things he had done."

"That's a lot of expectation."

"Holidays were the worst. I always brought Crabbe and Goyle or Pansy home with me, just so I wouldn't have to be alone with him."

"Ah the lovely Miss Parkinson," Astoria remarked. "How's she doing?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. I haven't seen her in over a year. Wasn't she mates with Daphne though? Wouldn't she know?"

"I wouldn't necessary use the term 'mates.' Pansy liked Daphne, and Daphne thought Pansy was alright until third year. They were the type of friends who pretended to like each other but didn't really."

"Really?"

"Daph's preferred name for Pansy was 'catty little bitch.'"

Draco stifled a laugh. "Very fitting."

"How long did you date?"

"We started going out in third year. Then sixth year... That's when it got bad, and she dumped me a few weeks before the Death Eaters came. She wanted to give it another go when we came back for seventh year, but I couldn't do it. Not after everything that had happened. She dated Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott after that, and once she made sure I found her snogging some bloke from Hufflepuff. But I didn't care."

"Catty little bitch indeed," she remarked. "Did your parents like her?"

"Mother did not, and she made it a point to tell me so. 'Draco, are you sure you like this Pansy girl?' 'Draco maybe you ought to try going out with a different girl.' 'Draco, please never bring that repulsive hag back to our home for holidays.'"

"She did not!" Astoria gasped.

Draco chuckled. "She did. And she was right. She was right about a lot of things."

"I like your mum. She's solid."

"More so than father."

Astoria reached and took one of his hands in hers. She ran her fingers across the back of his knuckles. "Have they tried to visit you here?"

He shook his head. "No. Well... I don't know. Mother probably has, but I've told the Healers I don't want to see any visitors. Father... he's probably wanting some visitors of his own."

"Is he?" she began.

"Azkaban. Life sentence. Mother was pardoned because she was braver than he was and actually lied to the Dark Lord. She saved Potter's stupid life, so she only had to pay reparations."

"I'm so sorry Draco," she said as she squeezed his hand.

He squeezed back. "I hate him. I hate him so much for what he did to me and Mother. And I hate myself for feeling that way about him because he's my father. He was supposed to protect our family and keep us safe. He didn't lift a damn finger when it was me getting tortured, or when Mum had to dispose of bodies in our sitting room. He never loved me."

Astoria sat up and inched closer to him. She hesitated before her words began to flow. "My dad was not a Death Eater. He never took the Mark. He believed in blood purity though, mostly because he didn't like Muggles. Said they were dangerous to us. He'd read books on how Muggles used to take people who had magic and burn them alive or hang them. He didn't trust them. He and Mum gave a lot of money to families like ours, really old wizarding families that had been pureblood for centuries. People would stop by our house all the time and ask him for donations to the 'cause.' And he gave it to them willingly. His friends wanted him to take the Mark, but he said he wasn't going to ally himself with a man who believed killing was the answer to our problem. A lot of the Death Eaters didn't like him, even though he gave them galleons of his gold. The other side didn't like him either. Thought he was a traitor because he openly stated that he didn't like Muggles. Never said we should kill and oppress them, but he just didn't like them and said we didn't need to mix our blood with them."

"Is he in Azkaban?"

She shook her head. "I dunno where he is. He and Mum went into hiding before the war ended. They sent me a letter that said they'd come find me and Daphne when it was safe for them, but it's been over a year. They're probably dead."

She leaned against him and sighed. "I never met your dad Draco, but I don't think he never loved you. He just let fear overwhelm his love and duty to family. You're not a bad person for being angry with him. I just hope you're able to forgive him one day. Fathers aren't perfect. Mine certainly wasn't, but I loved him. He abandoned me and Daph when we needed him most, and I've always felt so angry him for that. But that anger, I had to let it go. I couldn't let it own me."

Draco didn't speak but squeezed her hand again. His words had run dry. The last image he had retained of Lucius Malfoy was of the day he was sentenced to life imprisonment. He could see that older man's face, hear his mother's quiet sob, and feel his own heart pound. He'd never be able to look at his father again.

"Why Ravenclaw?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"What?"

"Why did you get sorted into Ravenclaw?"

"I asked. My dad was a Slytherin, Mum was in Slytherin, and Daphne was in Slytherin. I just wanted to be in my own house, you know? I like reading and I like learning. I love Ravenclaw. I wanted to be myself, and I asked the Hat if I could go to Ravenclaw. And it said that it was 'a smart idea.'"

"Are you a know-it-all?"

She smiled. "I used to be. Would you like me to revert back?"

He chuckled at the thought. "No way in hell."

* * *

Draco Malfoy had endured many late nights in his life. The night of April 3, 1999 was not his first all-nighter, and it certainly would not be his last. It was the night he truly learned invaluable information about Astoria Greengrass, and she learned more about him. It was the first night they stayed together. After that night, Draco had a hard time sleeping without Astoria nearby.


End file.
